The Touch of Astoroth

Chapter Six

It seemed to take an eternity.

Coyra saw every snowflake that the arrow skewered, every infinitesimal turn it made, as it flew through the air, towards the girl who had caused Trikk's death. She knew in that moment that she had fired her arrow not in readiness to end her mission, but in revenge.

And then Sarahfim shifted ever so slightly, turning her head as she leaned to pluck a frozen leaf from the tree, and the arrow sailed past her head and embedded it's self in the trunk.

For a moment Coyra was frozen in shock. She had missed. It was unheard of. She couldn't remember a time in all her years at the academy, ever missing her target by more than an inch. Yet the arrow hadn't even grazed Sarahfim Nakumnay.

Then there was no more time for thought; the chieftain's daughter whirled and pounced on Coyra, hardly giving her time to draw her knife.

The first thing Coyra registered as she was knocked to the snowy ground was that the girl was strong. She pressed Coyra into the snow, sitting on her stomach, impeding her breath. As Coyra struggled to free herself, with her free hand, she punched the girl in the side, hoping to dislodge Sarahfim's hold around her ribs.

She couldn't shake her free!

It was impossible! Coyra rarely lost in wrestling, and even when she did, it was only to someone like Fyn who really knew her and anticipated what holds she would use. How could this girl, a total stranger, beat her?

"You should be careful," Astoroth, demon of death, had told her.

Was this what she meant? I'm I going to die here?

Something hard, harder than a fist, hit her in the side of head, and black and yellow spots danced before her eyes.

When her vision cleared, Sarahfim's face seemed larger, or was it just closer?

The girl was leaning in, closer to her, savoring the feeling of winning a fight. Coyra had seen people do this at the academy, and it always made her angry.

In a final effort, she lunged forward, and bashed her forehead as hard as she could against Sarahfim's temple.

The girl started, thrown off balance by the sudden movement, but she recovered almost immediately. Her coordination was almost inhuman.

However, Coyra had one last chance.

The movement of her torso had sent blood rushing back to the nerves in her previously numb arm, and she had realized something:

She was still holding her knife.

Coyra brought her momentarily free arm around and slashed out for Sarahfim's head; and for the second time that day, Coyra missed what should have been a clean stroke across the face, and instead merely grazed the back of the girl's neck. She felt her blade snag on a few hairs at the base of Sarahfim's braid, then it went flying out of her hand.

Coyra knew with a horrible certainty that she was out of tricks. It would only be a matter of time before Sarahfim decided to stop playing with her and kill her.

But then, something changed. Sarahfim seemed to grow lighter. Her fingers on Coyra's shoulders, which had been like steel bands, slackened.

Coyra saw horror flash across the girl's face, as one of her hands flew to the back of her head.

Coyra writhed. She threw the girl off her, throwing her into the snow, and pulled her other knife from her belt.

She wanted to know more about Sarahfim Nakumnay, how she had beaten her the way she had, and what had changed. But she didn't have time for that now.